


Wait Another Minute

by clinicalgushing



Category: South Park
Genre: Diners, M/M, One Shot, they just graduated high school in this, yay hope u enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-16 01:56:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clinicalgushing/pseuds/clinicalgushing
Summary: At 2:36 in the morning, Stan and Kyle decide to go to the Village Inn.





	Wait Another Minute

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! just gonna say that here, they're leaving from a high school graduation party, so keep that in mind. other than that, enjoy!!!

At 2:36 in the morning, Stan and Kyle decide to go to the Village Inn.

When they show up, it's empty except for the hostess mindlessly standing at her station and the group of teenagers sitting in a booth, making a ruckus. It takes a moment for the hostess to notice the pair, and when she does, she carries no change of expression on her face.

The two are led to their booth, wandering throughout the diner with the not-so-vague smell of weed and cheap beer on them. Stan hides his dark hair under his beanie, whereas Kyle lets his red curls loose seeing as how he lost his ushanka during his festivities. They're miserable, and the teenagers giggling behind their backs just worsens their moods. They sit together, silent and awkward. Stan plays around with the spoon that's been set out for him while Kyle's leg bounces with intensity.

An older woman comes up, wearing the Village Inn uniform. She looks just as tired as they do, with her long hair tied up into a bun with loose strands dangling from her head and a slight scowl on her face. In her left hand is a notepad, and in her right is a pen.

"What would you like to drink?" she drawls, her eyes practically dead.

At the same time, Stan and Kyle answer with: "Coffee."

They exchange no other words than that, and she's gone, trailing off to a coffeemaker as slow as possible.

"Jesus Christ," Kyle mutters, hiding his face in his hands. "What time is it now?"

"2:43 in the morning," Stan answers, glancing at his phone. "I'm calling in sick to work tomorrow—or today, I guess."

"Hm. I hope Taco Bell doesn't miss you too much," the redhead retorts, a small smile gracing his face. "I am never letting you convince me to go to a Clyde Donovan party ever again."

"Hey, it's on you for accepting the invitation."

"Fair enough," Kyle replies.

Two mugs are suddenly placed in front of them, and coffee is sloppily poured into them, making a mess on the table. Stan watches Kyle cringe as he realizes he'll have to wipe up the waitress's tired mess. Still, Kyle forces a polite smile and lets out a tiny, "Thanks," as she turns away from them.

Kyle and his stupid mannerisms.

Compared to Stan, Kyle looks decent despite being a grumpy intoxicated kid. He's dressed in a crew neck sweater, baggy jeans, and some Converse that look brand new. Meanwhile, Stan is in one of his dad's old rock T-shirts, torn up jeans from his fiasco with the cops last year, and sneakers that are practically bound to fall apart any minute now.

Without thinking about it, Kyle plays with his own hair, twisting one of his loose curls with his finger. The drunk, stoned Stan is tempted to reach out and touch his friend's hair, but he knows his hand will get swatted away. It's a reflex of Kyle's.

"Can I"—Kyle tears open a packet of Splenda and puts it in his coffee—"crash at your place tonight? My parents will be pissed to see me like this."

"Sure, dude." Stan listens to Kyle's spoon tap against the mug with ease.

The lamp hanging above their heads flickers, and Stan wonders if he's in a fever dream.

Kyle puts an absurd amount of creamer into his coffee, the black shade going lighter and lighter until it's a light beige. Stan takes his coffee black in an effort to one-up—or impress?—Kyle. Kyle just shakes his head quietly at the sight of Stan's untainted coffee and goes on to take a big sip from his own mug, sighing as the warmth fills his throat, and then his stomach.

The waitress comes back again. She asks what they want to order. Stan says he'll have waffles, bacon, and hash-browns. Kyle orders some eggs and sourdough toast.

One of the kids in the booth throws a ball of paper at their table, and Stan doesn't bother moving a muscle. He can see irritation painting Kyle's face, but he restrains himself from scolding the middle schoolers, considering he's a recent high school graduate and knows better than to tell off some 14-year-olds who are out too late.

"Dammit, I need to go to Clyde's house to get my hat back," Kyle huffs. "He's kind of been a prick lately, right?"

"Mmhmm."

Clyde's always been a prick, but for some reason, he's been acting out much more recently. It's probably the stress of having to go long distance with Bebe, who doesn't seem to notice his anxieties, when college comes around.

"You're quiet," Kyle observes. He's right. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just tired. Coming down from my high and sobering up miserably."

That's half of the truth, anyway. On the other side of things, Stan is scared. He knows he still has a few months before he and his friends all separate, but he can't help but worry that he may never see them again.

Two plates are set down in front of them, with the waitress walking away before they can say "thank you." Their food is cold, but that's justified given the hour.

Stan digs into his waffles, slathering them with syrup. Kyle, on the other hand, eats at a reasonable pace instead of inhaling his meal.

"I'm surprised you drank. Or even smoked," Stan comments with a mouth full of food. "You're usually so uptight."

Kyle rolls his eyes, swallowing down the bite of his toast. "Yeah, well, I just wanted to have a good time at the party. I don't think I'll see much of everyone now that school's over."

A kid yells out, "Hey, ginger!" from his booth, and Kyle grits his teeth.

"Don't mind them. They're just kids," Stan reasons in an attempt to calm Kyle down.

"I know. Just wanna call these little assholes' parents and tell them what their kids are up to, though."

"Ah," Stan sighs, a grin spreading out on his face, "you sound more and more like your mom every day."

Kyle returns Stan's smile. "Shut up, dude."

Stan stares down at his plate, covered by remnants of his syrup-slathered waffles. They're soggy, now, but he still shoves his fork into a piece and stuffs it into his mouth.

The waitress passes by, and the two feel her glare at them. Obviously, she's pressuring them into leaving so she doesn't have to deal with them anymore. Her temper eventually rises to the point where she scolds at the kids in their booth to quiet down. They do so, and their voices come down to a hush when they insult her discreetly.

Kyle plays with the few scrambled eggs on his plate. "We should get going, hm?"

"Yeah." Stan takes the finishing sip from his cup of coffee. "Excuse me? Ma'am?"

He signals for the waitress to come by, and without a word, she places the check holder onto the table. Stan digs into his pockets to be met with immensely crumpled paper money. He blushes when he sees Kyle pull out his credit card from his wallet, giving up on taking out his money.

Kyle notices his embarrassed expression, and tells him, "Don't worry about it. I don't mind."

The process of paying goes by quickly, and they're stepping out of the Village Inn. Immediately, goosebumps form on their skin from the cold air.

"We've got a long walk ahead of us," Kyle huffs. They're lacking in cars—Stan isn't trusted to drive since his fender bender a few weeks ago, and Kyle's mom is too protective to let him out on the road.

"Yup," Stan agrees, a tired feeling coming over him. He's dreading the walk to his house, and he just wants to lie down on the sidewalk and fall asleep.

"Damn," Kyle says. "I can't believe you're gonna go to UCLA."

Stan laughs, shaking his head as they start their walk. "I mean, you're going to Brown University, so I've got nothing on you."

"We're gonna be on opposite ends of the country," Kyle mentioned, his tone now a lot softer. "Fuck, dude."

"You getting sappy on me, Broflovski?" Stan teases, watching his footsteps carefully. They're at a pace that's too slow to get home any time soon, but they don't mind.

"Sorry," Kyle mumbles. "Just... it's always been you and me our whole lives."

"I know. I'm scared, too."

"Do you wanna know something stupid?"

Stan doesn't reply, but Kyle still proceeds to answer.

"I have a favorite memory of us. I know—lame. But, like, remember in second grade? When we were all playing tag at recess, I tripped over my shoelace and got this huge scab on my knee. And you helped me up and walked me to the nurse's office without hesitation."

"Yeah. I remember that. There was a surprising amount of blood from that." Stan shudders at the thought of a small Kyle, crying on the ground from his little wound. "I have a favorite memory of us, too."

"Oh?"

"Um, it was like fifth grade. You were over at my house for a sleepover, and we pulled an all-nighter. We played video games all night. And I think I made some dumb joke—I don't remember what it was—but you laughed super hard. And you were just really happy, and it made me happy. Fuck, I sound stupid, shit—"

"No, no! That's really nice, actually. Wow." Kyle's cheeks are an intense red, now. Stan likes the way his curls frame his blushing face. "I hope we don't drift apart, you know. When we get to college."

"Me too. We won't. Swear on it."

"Yeah. I swear."

They're mindlessly getting closer together, their hands brushing together. Stan flinches at the feeling, but he doesn't hate it.

"My head is starting to hurt," Kyle groans. "You know, smoking weed sucks."

"Nah. You're just Mr. Buzz Killington."

"Am not!" Kyle lightly shoves Stan. "I just hate the taste of blunts."

"So do I."

"Then why do you do it?!" Kyle scolds, raising an eyebrow at Stan.

"Because it makes me happy?" Stan sighs. "I sound like my dad. Hey, promise me that you won't let me turn into him?"

"Dude, of course."

They're close to Stan's house, now, and they're underneath a street lamp. Kyle's green eyes are illuminated by the little amount of light there is.

"Um," Kyle mutters as they stop underneath the light, "I need to say something dumb."

"Okay. Shoot."

"I've always wanted to hold your hand."

"Oh."

A silence passes between them.

For some reason, Stan's hand is reaching out to grip Kyle's lightly freckled hand. He holds it, feeling how cold it is, and he shivers.

He's circling his thumb onto Kyle's knuckles. Kyle watches, remaining quiet as he does so.

Kyle looks up at him, his mouth somewhat open. He's a few inches shorter than him. Stan remembers when Kyle was taller than him in elementary school, but when middle school came around, Stan's height shot up and he's been towering over Kyle by a few inches for the past few years.

"Hey," Kyle mumbles. "Can I try something?"

Stan doesn't say anything because he knows what's about to happen. He removes his hand from Kyle's, and he holds onto Kyle's face, now. They're leaning in closer and closer, and now their lips are locked.

They linger for a few more seconds, and there's a fuzzy feeling in Stan's chest. Down in his stomach are actual butterflies, and he feels so stupid but happy at the same time.

The light above them flickers, and with that, they pull away. They stare at each other, their lips pigmented and wet.

"Holy shit," Stan breathes. He's just as flushed as Kyle, now. They're avoiding each other's gazes, sheepish and flustered like little kids.

"We should go into my place," Stan says. "I'm pretty tired."

"So am I."

They make their way over to Stan's house, quietly pushing open the front door and creeping up the stairs into Stan's room. Kyle borrows some sweats from Stan and Stan changes into his pajamas.

They each climb into Stan's bed, which feels overwhelmingly small considering they're both grown. Their arms touch each other's, and there's no way to shift away from it.

Stan looks over at the clock on his nightstand. It reads "3:45 am."

He lies there, listening to Kyle's sleepy breathing. For some reason, he turns onto his side and stretches his arm out against Kyle's chest. He sees that Kyle notices his touch, and doesn't protest, so he tightens his grip on Kyle, holding him closer.

Soon enough, he's sleepy, too, and his eyes are slowly shutting closed. Stan finally closes his eyes all the way, and he doesn't think to open them when he feels Kyle shift to press his face against Stan's chest. Instead, he falls asleep more with ease, holding Kyle close to him.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you've enjoyed this :). thanks for reading!


End file.
